


Sweater Weather

by Epic_F_Awesomesauce



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Death, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, M/M, Monsters, Nightmares, and fighting, and probably smut so yeah fun times, and there will be blood, depression probably, mentions of suicide or wanting to commit suicide, monsters eating children, scary stuff, so sad stuff happens, there will be like monster fighting, this is a sad story, writers block
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2023236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epic_F_Awesomesauce/pseuds/Epic_F_Awesomesauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ymir is drunk and crying in the middle of the road, half naked, covered in blood from a nosebleed, with snow is falling steadily around her. Christa stumbles upon her, and offers her a sweater. Ymir accepts it. And then she dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Name

Ymir was cold.

 

It was to be expected, really. After all, it was the middle of February and she was walking along outside in the snow wearing a ratty old tank top and short shorts with holes in them, one of which was in the butt, something she hadn’t noticed until just now.

 

She had gone to a friend’s house to have a couple drinks, which had then turned into a party, which had then turned into her taking four shots, ripping off her shirt, and jumping off the second floor balcony and onto the two feet of snow below. She had been fine, of course, but after that Connie had told her she had to go home because they didn’t want to get sued by her mom when she found out that Ymir had cracked her head open jumping off the balcony again. (She hadn’t cracked her head open this time, but after the first time it’d happened Connie and Sasha had been especially careful.)

 

So she had put her shirt back on and, soaked with snow, with her hair loose from its usual ponytail (where had her hair tie gone?), she began to struggle home. Later, her friends would say mournfully that, if they had been just a little less drunk, they would have driven her, or had the good sense to tell her to stay the night so long as she kept away from the balcony.

 

But they were too drunk, and they didn’t have the good sense. And so she walked.

 

She was barefoot, holding her soaked boots in her hand. She should have believed everyone who told her not to get Uggs, but she had been so focused on pictures of cute girls wearing Uggs on Instagram that she had figured, what the hell, and spent half a month’s rent on shitty-ass boots that made her slip and fall on her face.

 

Speaking of slipping, she suddenly found her feet flying out from under her. She let out a shriek as she fell, bringing her hands up to cover her face and accidentally smacking herself with those _damn shoes_. She felt a severe pain in her nose and then a hot liquid running over her face. She tasted iron.

 

Her head hit the ice with a cracking noise, or maybe that was the noise her nose made. Either way something cracked, and then everything hurt, and she was really cold and wished she hadn’t had all that stuff to drink because she felt like shit and knew that she would feel more like shit when she woke up early the next morning to go to work. (When? Or if? This hangover would be so bad she would be lucky if she could get up the day after tomorrow.)

 

Because of her drunken state and the severe pain in her head and her nose, and the fact that she was so fucking cold, like as cold as ice but maybe colder, she found herself sitting on the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of a backstreet in the middle of a seemingly empty (but not quite) city, crying.

 

Ymir always cried when she was drunk, one way or another. The first time she had gotten drunk, she had gone to see Marley and Me with a friend, and she had cried so hard she had thrown up (actually, thinking about it now, that might just have been the alcohol) on the woman in front of her, ruining her hairdo and causing her to scream at fifteen-year-old Ymir, which made her cry even harder and throw up again, right on the woman’s front. After that incident she had been banned from that theater forever.

 

The second time she had gotten drunk was the time before she had told her mother she was gay, and that time she had cried so hard she couldn’t get the words out, and she had thrown up on the kitchen table and then slept in the shower for fifteen straight hours with the curtains closed, the door locked, and her iPod blaring Fall Out Boy.

 

After that, she had sworn to herself she would never get drunk again, but she did anyway, a lot, and every time she cried about something utterly ridiculous, but not before breaking something and throwing up on at least two people.

 

Ymir was one of those really ugly criers, especially when she was covered in blood from her possibly broken nose. Tears trailed down her cheeks like a river, snot and blood leaked in a neverending stream from her nose, and there was so much shit in her mouth that she kept choking and spitting stuff into the snow, turning everything around her red. Also, she was loud, but instead of sobbing like most people, she did this weird breathing thing that might have been hyperventilating, though she wasn’t quite sure about that.

 

She didn’t know how long she sat there, but she knew that by the time she finally looked it up it was snowing again, and so dark she could hardly see, which made the figure standing in front of her all the stranger. Why was such a small person standing outside in the middle of the night, in the cold? She (if it was a girl; she couldn’t see the other figure) wasn’t even dressed properly for the cold, though Ymir couldn’t really judge her on that.

 

They stared at each other for a moment—or at least, Ymir thought that they did, but she wasn’t really sure considering the other person’s face was a dark gray hole vaguely outlined by hair and a scarf.

 

“Hello?” Ymir asked. Her voice sounded hoarse, and she had to cough a bit before she spoke because of all the buildup from crying. “Who are you?”

 

“My name…” The girl—Ymir could definitely tell it was a girl now; her voice was high and sweet and clear, the perfect voice for singing in a choir, and too high to belong to a boy—hesitated before she spoke. “My name is Christa Lenz. What are you doing here at this time of night?”

 

Ymir was too drunk to be thrown by the fact that this Christa girl didn’t ask her who she was in return. “I don’t know,” she said, answering Christa’s question. Christa was silent, so Ymir took it upon herself to speak again: “I’m cold,” she said petulantly.

 

Christa still said nothing, keeping completely still. If it weren’t for small puffs of steam coming from her mouth, Ymir would think she was hallucinating her.

 

“Here,” Christa finally said. She reached up and pulled her hoodie over her head, then handed it to Ymir. “Put this on and get yourself home. It’s not safe for you to be out at night.”

 

“Safe for _me_?” Ymir questioned, taking the hoodie and putting it on. If she wasn’t drunk she wouldn’t have done that, since it was kind of weird. “What are you, like, twelve? I think it’s safer for me than for you.”

 

Christa ignored this, stepping past Ymir. She was so small her footsteps barely crunched through the hard upper layer of snow. “Get yourself home, Ymir,” she said, and that was all.

 

Or rather, it should have been all. It should have ended there. Christa should have left, walking down the street quietly, but with purpose. Ymir should have lingered there for a couple moments longer, watching Christa, before getting to her feet and crossing the street. This was what Christa had seen, and so she wasn’t concerned about Ymir’s well-being until there was the sound of car brakes screeching; of tires turning, unable to stop; of a short, drunken yell from Ymir; and then of a sickening _splat_ that made Christa’s blood run cold.

 

She turned around and was running back toward the other woman before she has time to fully understand what was going on. She skidded in the snow, almost slipping, but pushed herself up with a hand and kept going. She could see a car in the place that Ymir used to be, and a foreboding black shape in front of it, but she didn’t want to think about what it meant; she just wanted to make sure that Ymir was safe, like she was supposed to be, like Christa had _seen_.

 

The driver, looked in front of his car, then let out a scream. Christa sped up, then threw herself down next to the figure in front of the car, not caring that blood-soaked snow splattered all over her clothing. She grabbed Ymir’s shoulder, pushing her onto her back so that she could see the damage.

 

The driver screamed again at the sight of Ymir’s mangled body, and Christa wanted to scream too, but she swallowed that urge and turned to the driver. “Call an ambulance! Now!” she ordered. The driver was so frightened that he did as she said without thinking.

 

Christa leaned down and pressed her ear to Ymir’s mouth, which was bloody. She was still breathing, but it was too faint, too shallow. She was going to die if the ambulance didn’t get here soon.

 

She could hear the man who hit Ymir yelling anxiously at someone on the phone, and she yelled at him to ask if someone was coming, and he said that they would be here in ten minutes or more, since the roads were so bad.

 

 _That’s too long!_ a voice inside of her screamed, but she silenced it and looked down at Ymir. Her eyes were open and focused, which was strange enough since she was not only drunk, but also dying. What was even stranger was when she frowned, her chest heaving, voice gasping, lifeblood leaking from her stomach and onto the hoodie Christa had lent her just moments before.

 

“You knew my name.”

 

 


	2. Ymir's Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ymir is dead. She doesn't want to be dead. Christa promises that she will find a way to fix her, even though she knows there's no way to fix her.

Christa bolted upright, covered in sweat, in the very early hours of the morning. It took her a moment to remember why she was so scared, and then she felt the tears on her cheeks and realized it wasn’t fear she was feeling, but sadness.

 

Ymir was dead.

 

Even as they had been pulling her into the ambulance and driving away, Christa could tell there was no chance of survival. Her eyes were glazed over and, though she was still breathing, she wouldn’t be for long. Christa knew things about death, and one of the things she knew was that there was no way Ymir was leaving that ambulance alive.

 

“Morning, sunshine,” said a voice to her left.

 

Christa turned to look over, not even surprised at the figure she saw near the window.

 

“You didn’t sleep very long,” said Ymir, a goofy smile on her face. Christa didn’t return it.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she told Ymir. “You should be—”

 

Ymir rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I should be dead. You said that already.”

 

Christa huffed. “That’s not what I was going to say—”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s a different word, isn’t it? Like… what would you say... gone? _In the beyond?_ ” Ymir said the last few words in a spooky tone, then floated up near the ceiling. “I mean, I’m already dead, so I guess I can’t get any deader.”

 

“You can,” said Christa, swallowing the lump in her throat that came from Ymir tossing around the fact that she was dead so casually, like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t change anything. “You need to be where you’re supposed to be. Not stuck here, in the land of the living—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, like I _asked_ to be a damn ghost,” Ymir interrupted. “I’m just staying around until you find a way to bring me back.”

  
  


***

  
  


She went to Ymir’s funeral, after seeing it in the papers. Everyone advised her against it; in her line of work, you don’t go to funerals. That would bring unwanted attention.

 

But she couldn’t help herself. She felt so close to Ymir, even before she had met her on the lonely back road. She had been dreaming of Ymir since they were both little; she knew her face, knew what she liked, knew her entire history, and so she couldn’t stop herself from going to her funeral.

 

As soon as she walked in, she knew that she never should have gone to the funeral. It was held in a small chapel filled with about twenty black-dressed mourners. There was a coffin up by the front, with a huge amount of ornamental flowers on one end and a stout older woman on the other. The side where the woman was standing had a little door open so that people could see Ymir’s corpse’s face. Her mother was shaking peoples’ hands as they looked into the coffin to wish Ymir good bye.

 

Standing next to the older woman was Ymir herself. She was dressed in the same clothes Christa had seen on her the night she died, but over her tank top she was wearing Christa’s hoodie. Her bloody nose was gone, and she no longer looked like she had been sitting in the middle of the road in the snow, crying. The hoodie wasn’t even bloodstained, something Christa was thankful for. If it was bloodstained, her already queasy stomach wouldn’t be able to control itself.

 

Ymir’s arms were crossed and she rolled her eyes at the people who shook hands with her mother, as if they were lying when they told her how sorry they were for her daughter’s death. She kept combing her fingers through her hair, which was ratty, trying to gather it into a ponytail and then tie it with another strand of hair. It didn’t work, and she was getting more and more frustrated every time it didn’t.

 

And then Ymir looked up, and her eyes locked with Christa’s. They both stayed there for a moment, staring at each other, and then Ymir floated up, off the ground, and over the well-wishers surrounding her mother. She crossed the room, floating over in a sort of Superman position, though she was still trying to fix her hair. She stopped in front of Christa and stood so that her feet were at least close to touching the ground.

 

“Christa,” she said. She paused, staring at the other girl, her expression confused. “What’s going on?”

 

Christa swallowed, but didn’t reply. How was she supposed to talk to a ghost in the middle of all these people?

 

“What’s going on,” Ymir repeated, looking serious for once.

 

“We can’t talk here,” Christa muttered, stepping to the side as more people entered. “Follow me.” She turned sharply and left the room, skirt flaring out behind her. She was wearing a black dress. After all, it was a funeral. Ymir was dead. She had to remember that.

 

Christa turned to face Ymir once they were in the courtyard just outside the church. She had made sure to stop under a tree so that no one would think she was standing around talking to herself.

 

“You’re dead,” was the first thing Christa said. She had decided to be blunt on the walk over, figuring that Ymir would appreciate that more than her beating around the bush.

 

“Yeah, I got that,” said Ymir, sounding annoyed. “Why they hell am I still here? And also, why the hell am I _dead?_ ”

 

Christa opened my mouth to speak, then stopped. She couldn’t answer Ymir’s first question and, though she wanted to, she couldn’t answer the second one either. The only thing she knew about this entire situation is that she really should not have come to this funeral, because in her line of work, the first ghost you see is the ghost that will stay with you forever. And Ymir was her first.

 

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t know anything.” _Except that I shouldn’t have come here_.

 

Ymir opened her mouth as if she was readying to yell herself hoarse at Christa. Despite herself, Christa flinched away at the action, and Ymir stopped as soon as she saw her. Ymir closed her mouth, and her eyes, and then pressed her fingers hard against her forehead, as if that would help her to think.

 

“I thought you were supposed to know things,” Ymir said. “You knew my name, so I thought you would know things.”

 

“All I know if that you shouldn’t have died,” Christa blurted out before she could stop herself. “I saw it. When I saw you. I saw that I would give you my hoodie, and you would put it on, and then you would cross the street and go home. I didn’t even _see_ a car at all!”

 

“I didn’t either,” said Ymir with a wry smile. “But I’m guessing you mean ‘see’ differently than I did.”

 

Christa blanched. “Yeah, sorry. I did. But I can’t really… explain it here.”

 

Ymir huffed, swooping up so that she was lying down on her stomach in midair. “Well you’re gonna need to find a place to explain things to me pretty soon because I absolutely will not be in the dark about my own fucking death.”

 

Christa hesitated, then spoke. “I’m sorry. About… everything.”

 

Ymir stared at her, then smiled. It was a sad smile though, and so unlike Ymir that it made Christa’s heart ache. “Yeah, me too. Can you make this better? Like, with your… seeing thing? You can see things, right? So… can you make this better?”

 

Christa was about to answer that, no, she couldn’t change things with her special seeing thing, but the hope on Ymir’s face brought her to an immediate stop.

 

“Maybe,” she said, and as soon as those words left her lips she knew she shouldn’t have said them, because the hope in Ymir’s eyes grew stronger, and now there was also trust. She was trusting Christa now, trusting her to help.

 

“Really?”

 

But she couldn’t take the words back now. She couldn’t let that hope fade from Ymir’s eyes.

 

“Yeah. Of course.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is pretty much just a filler chapter that I wanted to get out today so that you guys could have more to read. I'm still trying to get my thoughts about this thing in order, so hopefully by Friday I'll be able to write something worth reading. ^^" Bear with me plz.


	3. What The Heck is Going On?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ymir has no idea what's going on, and Christa apparently wants to keep it that way, and also ignore her forever and ever because she's a meanie and a jerk.

By the time Christa had finished showering and eating (which was a task she took upon herself with no enthusiasm, apparently, because the look on her face as she choked down cereal was one of disgust), it was nine in the morning. Ymir knew that if she was still alive she would be at work by now, and she said as much to Christa. Apparently it was the wrong thing to say though, because Christa’s mouth pursed and she turned and walked out the front door without a word to Ymir about where she was going.

 

Ymir followed her, and she once again marveled at the size of Christa’s house. It was an all-white, like, _mansion_ , with two stories, a wraparound balcony, and little turrets on each side. There were no houses around it and it had a long driveway that lead back to civilisation. It was also surrounded by a shitton of trees and bushes, giving it this cabin-in-the-woods feel, except that it was in no way a cabin.

 

Christa got into her car, which was some sort of expensive new car that Ymir didn’t know the type of. Christa reached over and opened the passenger side door for Ymir and she floated inside; Christa reached over her to close it again.

 

“Did Daddy buy this all for you?” Ymir asked, a mix of mocking and joking.

 

“Actually, yes,” Christa replied.

 

“Oh.” She never should’ve opened her mouth. Why was everything she said so insulting?

 

Christa started the car and drove down the driveway slowly, like she was expecting something to jump out at her from the trees. Ymir didn’t comment on this, for once. She had learned her lesson, for now.

 

Christa turned left when she reached the actual road and sped up suddenly, causing Ymir to fall into the seat a little bit. As in, she actually went into it, which felt really weird and caused her to make some sort of noise or something, because Christa shot her a look.

 

“You okay?” Christa asked.

 

“Yeah,” Ymir lied. She felt a little queasy, actually, but she figured there was no way she could throw up all over Christa’s car, since she was dead and stuff.

 

They sat in silence for a while, Christa driving and Ymir poking at the window, watching as her finger went through the glass. It left her finger with a weird feeling of emptiness, but luckily she didn’t get any queasier.

 

“Where are we going?” Ymir finally asked.

 

“Work,” Christa answered.

 

“You have a job?” Ymir asked, surprised. Christa rolled her eyes. “I mean, I thought that if your dad paid for all that shit you wouldn’t have one…” Ymir finished lamely.

 

“I work for my dad,” Christa said.

 

“Wait… so, you paid for all of this?” Ymir asked, trying not to sound as surprised as she was.

 

“Yeah, and the housekeeper and the gardener,” Christa said offhandedly, as though everyone had enough money for a housekeeper and a gardener. Ymir barely had enough money for heating.

 

“Jesus,”  Ymir said. “You’re fucking rich, aren’t you? Rich _and_ beautiful. You’re lucky.”

 

Christa paled and her hands clenched on the steering wheel, squeezing so hard her knuckles turned white. She stared at the road and avoided Ymir’s eyes, so Ymir changed the subject.

 

“Where do you work that you make so much money? I should get a job there.”

 

Christa grew paler still, and Ymir decided she would just keep silent from now on.

  
  


***

  
  


They parked in the parking garage of some huge corporate building that made Ymir stop and gape for like three and a half hours. It was huge, like twenty stories tall, all black and silver and fancy-looking. It was easily one of the tallest, coolest-looking buildings in the area, and Ymir was suddenly a little scared of Christa. Did her cute little face, with her baby blue eyes and perfect pink lips, hide the mind of some sort of, like, assassin? Politician? Area 51 worker person? What the hell was her job?!

 

Christa had to unlock the door from the parking garage to the main building with some special key card that had her face on it and some other stuff that Ymir didn’t get a good look at. Christa held the door open for Ymir, which she took as some form of forgiveness for how rude she had been earlier. She floated past Christa, a couple of inches above the ground. She still couldn’t quite figure out how to look like she was walking. Her depth perception was no good, especially since she just went through everything.

 

“Where are we going?” Ymir asked, not expecting an answer. To her surprise, Christa didn’t make any effort to look like she wasn’t talking to thin air when she spoke.

 

“We’re going to talk to my bosses,” Christa said, smiling at a couple of people who passed her. They smiled back at her, and then—were they smiling at Ymir too?! “They’ll know what to do with you.”

 

“Did those people just—?” Ymir asked, but then she realized what Christa had said. “Wait, your bosses can see me even though I’m dead?!”

 

“Hush,” shushed Christa, waving and calling a greeting at a group of people wearing all-black exercise clothing.

 

Ymir pouted. She wanted to complain—a lot—but she decided to keep quiet because Christa was looking more and more like someone who lived in a mansion and less and less like a little girl. As the hallway leading to the parking garage widened into a large lobby filled with more black-clothed people, elevators along the right wall, and a huge golden fountain in the middle of it all, Christa’s shoulders straightened and her chin lifted into the air. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and Ymir swallowed. Suddenly Christa wasn’t just kinda pretty; she was beautiful.

 

But, even as she grew more confident with every step, she also seemed to grow even more serious, which was saying something. Sure, she was smiling, but Ymir could tell that there was something weighing on her. In fact, everyone in this building had that sort of expression on their face. They all looked like they had something super important to do, and if they didn’t do it people would die.

 

“Do you work for the military?” asked Ymir, speeding up her floating-thingy so that she could walk next to Christa.

 

“Government,” Christa answered shortly. “Jean!” She called suddenly, nearly scaring Ymir to death—except that she was already dead… so… nearly scaring Ymir to the afterlife or something.

 

“Christa, hey,” said a voice, jogging over from the area of the golden fountain. His hair was fashioned in an uppercut, but somehow the top of his hair was ash blonde and the part that was cut was a dark brown. Ymir wondered if that was natural.

 

“Do you know where Levi and/or Hange are?” Christa asked, smiling up at him. The t-shirt she was wearing was black and very tight-fitting, Ymir noticed sourly as Jean looked down at Christa. She couldn’t tell where he was looking, but if he was looking where Ymir herself would be looking if she was him… She rolled her eyes at herself. It wasn’t like she owned Christa, or her boobs, and she definitely had no say in who got to look at them.

 

“I think I saw them both heading upstairs,” Jean continued. His eyes were a nice brown color, Ymir noticed, but his face was weirdly long. He reminded her of a horse.

 

 _Good_ , she thought. There was no way Christa would think he was attractive with a horsey face like that.

 

“Oh, hey, Marco,” Christa said. “What’s up?”

 

Peering around Christa’s shoulder, Ymir saw another boy with dark hair, almost as many freckles as she had, and a square jaw.

 

“Nothing’s up,” Marco said with a gentle smile. “Jean and I were just practicing for the next mission.”

 

Ymir floated around to Christa’s other side. “Mission?” She piped up. Suddenly Jean and Marco’s eyes were on her, as well as Christa’s.

 

“Jean, Marco, this is Ymir,” said Christa.

 

She completely ignored Ymir’s question, which pissed her off. Ymir made a face at her and crossed her arms over her chest, throwing herself forward so that she was floating on her stomach in thin air. She was too grumpy at Christa to notice the look Jean and Marco exchanged at her name.

 

“Anyway, guys, we’re trying to find Hange, so if you’ll excuse us…” With more friendly smiles and equally friendly words of farewell, Christa extricated herself and Ymir from the conversation. She then headed over to the far wall that held the elevators. Ymir followed, still lying down in midair. She was upset that Christa hadn’t explained anything to her, and was ignoring her but still talking to other people. Ymir wanted Christa to pay attention to her.

 

“Who were they?” Ymir asked moodily as Christa held the elevator door open for her.

 

“They’re part of my squad,” Christa answered, pressing the button to go to the fourteenth floor.

 

“Squad?” Ymir asked rather loudly. She was getting pretty damn frustrated by all Christa’s riddles and shit. “What the fuck is your job?!”

 

“Ymir,” Christa began in a warning tone. Just then the elevator doors dinged open and in stepped—

 

“Hange!” Christa said, rushing forward to greet zir. “I’m so glad I’ve found you, I have some questions to ask about, um, things, private things. Is Captain Levi around? I’d like to speak with him, too, if you both have the chance, do you know where he—?”

 

“Oh, Christa?” asked Hange, pushing zir glasses up zir nose. “Who is this?”

 

Christa froze, then looked back at Ymir, then back at Hange, then another quick glance at Ymir before it was Hange she focused on. “That’s… um…”

 

Ymir floated around so that she could see Christa’s face and saw that her eyes were locked with Hange’s as if she was trying to communicate telepathically.

 

“That’s Ymir,” said Christa finally. “She’s a ghost.”

 

“Ymir?!” Hange exclaimed suddenly. Ze rushed towards Ymir and got way up in her face. “The girl you dream about?” ze clarified. Before Christa could answer ze was muttering “fascinating” and “intriguing” under zir breath and walking in a circle around Ymir.

 

“Hange!” Christa reprimanded, blushing bright pink. Ymir watched her, eyes narrowing. So, Christa dreamed about her… that was weird, and creepy… but also sort of cool. Were they, like, meant for each other or something? When she got her life back again, she would look into that.

 

“Levi’s over this way,” Hange said, sounding preoccupied. Ze kept staring at Ymir like she was the coolest thing ever, and Ymir was starting to get a bit freaked out.

 

“Lead the way,” Christa said, lightly shoving Hange out of the elevator. “We have a lot to talk about.”

 

Ymir crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. “I’ll just stay here, then.” She felt like Christa wasn’t paying enough attention to her. Hange wasn’t more important than she was! After all, _Ymir_ was the dead one. She should get the most attention.

 

Christa rolled her eyes, not in the mood to deal with Ymir’s moping. “You’re coming,” she said, and then she turned away. Ymir was shocked, both at being ordered around and by the fact that Christa was being so unfriendly, but only to her.

 

But she still followed them both out when they left the elevator.

 

Christa led the way, even though this was clearly Hange’s turf. Hange didn’t seem to mind though, since ze was still staring at Ymir. Weirdo.

 

“Where did you say Levi was?” Christa prompted as they reached a fork in the hallway.

 

“He’s getting coffee,” Hange said. “Hey, Ymir, when you died, did you see anything before your funeral, or did you just wake up there and—”

 

“That’s enough, Hange,” Christa said sharply, and even though Hange was clearly senior to her, ze still closed zir mouth. Maybe it was the authority in Christa’s voice when she said it, Ymir mused. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe Christa was super special and important. Probably, since she was obviously so rich. Oh, hadn’t she said that she worked for her dad? Maybe that was it. Her dad was everyone’s boss.

 

Christa once again led the way to wherever the coffee, and Levi, were, with Hange trailing behind her, practically walking backwards so she could stare at Ymir, who was in a suddenly good mood ever since she had heard the word “coffee” being said. She loved coffee. She loved the smell, and the taste, and the way it filled her with a buzz like beer did, except not quite as intense. She worked in a coffee shop; that was how much she liked it. (She also worked weekends at a bar. What did that say about her…?)

 

Even though she realized that she wouldn’t be able to drink it, she was still cheerful as they walked toward the coffee room. She barely noticed she was humming to herself until Christa shot her a peculiar look over her shoulder.

 

“Are you humming ‘Stacy’s Mom’?” she asked, as if that was the worst thing she’d ever heard of anyone doing ever, discluding that whole Hitler thing. (Ymir was sure she came a close second in Christa’s mind.)

 

“Yeah,” Ymir huffed. “I guess. Why, you gotta problem with it, Angel?”

 

Christa blushed at the pet name, and Ymir grinned with satisfaction. At least she wasn’t being all mean now. Hange just looked at the two of them like they were a very interesting science experiment that she didn’t want to take her eyes off of in case she missed anything. Ymir didn’t like that feeling, but she told herself to ignore it and instead focus on the blush on Christa’s cheeks.

  
  


***

  
  


They bumped into Levi as he was on his way out of the break room.  

 

In Hange’s case, ze literally bumped _into_ Levi, causing him to spill coffee down his front. In the storm of furious swearing and threats to Hange’s life and sanity that followed, Ymir didn’t get a very good look at him. She did get a good look at Little Miss Perfect though, who was moving from one foot to the next as if she didn’t think they had time to be yelling at each other in the hall. Ymir agreed; if they were going to get her back into her body, she wanted it done fast, before she could get too used to being a ghost.

 

Hange finally got Levi to calm down by promising to buy him Starbucks every day for a month (which seemed like a steep price to Ymir, but apparently this was a normal thing for Hange and Levi). Levi, grumbling all the way, led them to his office. He sat behind his desk and stared directly at Ymir as Christa sat down in a chair that was in front of the desk, the whole setup reminding Ymir distinctly of the principal’s office at her high school. That idea was broken by Hange sitting down in a chair next to Christa, then scooting inch by inch behind the desk so ze could sit next to Levi. While this was happening, Christa was wringing her hands so hard that Ymir thought she might pull off her own fingers

 

Levi took a long sip of his boiling hot coffee, something that made Ymir feel small. She couldn’t have done that. It was too hot. It was still steaming, for fuck’s sake!

 

When he was finally done, Levi spoke: “Christa, why have you asked to meet us here today?” His voice was low and even, but somehow that seemed more scary than when he had been yelling and swearing.

 

“Well,” said Christa, stilling her nervous hands in her lap, “Levi, this is Ymir.” She gestured to Ymir, who waved awkwardly.

 

Levi’s eyes widened, just a little, at Ymir’s name, which made her a bit suspicious. “Ymir…?”

 

“She’s dead,” Christa said. It sounded like she was struggling to keep her voice even, but though she was struggling she still managed it. Ymir knew she never would have been able to do as much if she were in her situation.

 

“...I can see that,” Levi said. He took another sip from his coffee, but this one was slow and pondering. “She’s your ghost now.”

 

Ymir’s head jerked back in surprise. “Excuse me?” she said, highly insulted. “I’m my _own_ ghost.”

 

“No,” Christa said. “The first ghost I see is my, um, partner ghost, and you w-were my first…” A bright blush rose in her cheeks as she said the words. “So, um, you’re actually… mine.”

 

Ymir smirked. “I guess that’s not so bad,” she said, making awkward eye contact with Christa, who blushed even more.

 

“But,” Christa continued on, trying her best to ignore Ymir. “I had a vision. When I met her. She wasn’t supposed to die, so why was it wrong?”

 

Levi frowned, his eyes flickering to Ymir and then back to Christa so fast Ymir almost couldn’t see it.

 

“Ymir,” he said. “Will you leave us alone for just a little bit? I’m afraid we’re going to be having a very in-depth, boring conversation about ghosts and the like. In fact, we’re going to have to call my boss to discuss things with him as well, and it will all be very boring. Instead, you should go meet our squadron. You’ll be spending a lot of time with them in the weeks to come.”

 

Why was he speaking all polite all of a sudden? Ymir stared at him for a moment, but his face was blank, and the only thing she got out of him was that he had a weird haircut.

 

“Fine,” she said. “How do I get there?”

 

“I’ll send someone up for you,” he told her. He then nodded at Hange, who got up and did the whole sending up thing for him, which Ymir thought was a bit misleading since he'd said he’d do it.

 

Hange then opened the door for Ymir to walk out, and then closed it firmly behind her. Ymir scowled. Fuck these weird, fancy people with their weird ghost-y stuff. What the fuck was that all about anyway. What the fuck. Just in general.

 

She floated around the hallway for a bit until the elevator dinged open. Two people stepped out; in fact, they were the guys they had met down in the lobby. What were their names… John and Mark, or something?

 

“We’re here to bring you to the lobby to hang out,” Mark, or whatever his name was, said with a smile. John just scowled, and so Ymir scowled right back.

 

“Why didn’t you just come?” she asked. “Why’d you bring this grumpy pants?”

 

Mark looked surprised. “Well, I mean, I can’t work the elevator.”

 

Ymir stared at him. “What are you, a fucking baby? All you have to do is press a button.”

 

He smiled. “Well, yeah. But you also have to be alive?” He reached out and stuck his hand through the wall to his left, not even cringing at the weird feeling Ymir knew firsthand. “I mean, it’s hard to push a button when you aren’t really, you know, solid.”

 

“Oh,” Ymir said, feeling dumb. “Yeah. I guess.” How had she not noticed that he was dead?

 

“Anyway,” said John, avoiding looking at the both of them and instead staring at his shoes. “Let’s head downstairs. We can introduce you to everyone.”

 

Ymir shrugged. “Whatever. I guess. Sure.”

 

John led them back to the elevator and they rode down in silence.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was supposed to be longer and then shit happened and suddenly it has to be broken into two parts??? Well idk it'll up the chapter count and shit and give me time to figure shit out. And yeah I'm posting this early because I'm going to be doing a lot of shit this week and idk when I will have the time to post it so yeah be happy I guess whatever.
> 
> (Also sorry about the whole Marco-is-dead-and-Jean-is-alive. I kinda did that especially for my friend, who'll probly hate me now?? Hahaha... yeah.)


	4. I'm Sorry This Was So Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically things start heating up but still not enough but they will soon and you will learn a lot of stuff haha.

“Why was my vision wrong?” Christa asked. Hange had barely closed the door behind Ymir before she spoke, but she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “It shouldn’t have been like this. Why was it like this? She wasn’t supposed to die!”

 

Tears flooded her eyes, but she did her best not to let them fall. “Why did this have to happen to her. She was a good person. Was a decent person. _Is_ a decent person. This shouldn’t have happened to her!”

 

Levi just looked at her. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

 

“It’s my fault isn’t it,” Christa said, her voice sounding choked. “It’s my fault. It’s because I loved her, isn’t it. I did it. I killed her.”

 

A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. She looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. She liked Ymir’s hands. She had always liked them. Ymir’s hands were big and brown, with long graceful fingers and chewed-up nails. Whenever she had seen them in dreams, she had always wondered what they felt like, but those thoughts were quickly replaced by watching her strum a guitar, or pick out tunes on a piano. Ymir was good at the piano, but she didn’t have easy access to one. She did have easy access to a guitar, and she sang too. It was beautiful. Dreams where she sang were Christa’s favorite. It always made her wake up crying, because Ymir always sang such beautiful, sad songs.

 

And now Christa had killed her. Ymir was dead because of Christa. Ymir would never play beautiful songs on the guitar, and she would never be able to save up for a piano. Christa should have bought her one. She could have sent it to her apartment anonymously, or something. She should have made Ymir’s life better while she could. She should have protected her. She should have gone to meet her sooner. They could have had _so much_ time together. They could have played games, and Christa could have cooked her her favorite—which was yellow curry with chicken and potatoes, as spicy as a human could handle. Ymir could have played songs for her, or taught her how to play songs, and Ymir could have sung to her every night before they went to bed.

 

They could have cuddled and watched movies and laughed and danced and fought and… all sorts of stuff. Everything. They could have done everything.

 

Hange wrapped an arm around Christa’s shoulder. “Christa. We weren’t sure if we wanted to tell you this, but…” Ze shared a look with Levi, then turned zir attention back to Christa.

 

“If your vision was wrong, and it’s always been right—it _has_ always been right, yeah?”

 

Christa nodded fervently, sniffling. “It’s never been wrong.”

 

“Well then, if your vision has always been right, but was wrong this one time, for Ymir, who’s someone you’ve been dreaming about forever, someone you… love.” Hange paused. “I mean, the chances of it randomly malfunctioning like that are… well, they’re not much—”

 

Levi snorted. “What Hange’s trying to say, Christa, is that coincidences don’t fucking _happen_ in our line of work. If Ymir’s dead, after you saw that she would be alive, something did this to her. On purpose. To hurt you.”

  
  


***

  
  


Once Ymir, Mark, and John got out the elevator, Ymir was introduced to more people with weird names. There was Bert Told, who was really tall and shy and had dark hair, and there was his boyfriend, Rhino, who certainly lived up to his name, since he was huge and buff with chiseled features and blond hair.

 

There was Mi Casa, who Ymir decided she should probably call House from now on. She was this gorgeous, like, Japanese girl, which was weird since her name was Spanish.

 

Mi Casa was attached at the hip to both Aaron, her adopted brother (enthusiastic, brown hair, pretty eyes) and their friend, Ar Min, who for some reason had like a Chinese name even though he'd got this weird blonde bowl cut thing and was definitely not Chinese.

 

There was also this girl named Annie, who was like Christa but taller (slightly) and scary as all fuck. Blonde hair pulled back into some complicated bun, blue eyes, hooked nose. She stared at Ymir like she’d seen better in her cereal bowl, which was probably filled with human blood instead of milk.

 

Then there were all these ghosts too, because apparently everyone had a ghost. Annie’s father, Aaron’s mother, Ar Min’s grandfather, and she wasn’t too sure about Rhino and Bert.

 

House didn’t have a ghost, apparently, just like Christa didn’t before she met Ymir. Apparently it was because ghosts helped these people, but House was so awesome that she didn’t need one. Instead, Ymir decided, she probably used her scarf (which was red and looked really good on her, Ymir had to admit) as some sort of psychic wavelength catcher thingy that helped her with catching monsters.

 

Once they were all introduced to her, Ymir sort of floated off. They all looked at her like they were expecting something from her, like questions, conversations, maybe even eye contact. What they didn’t know is that, despite her super cool exterior (which was super hot as well as super cool, because she was super duper), she was really bad at making friends. That’s why she only had two: Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer. They’d all been friends since they were like in the womb, probably.

 

So she floated off while they were conversing amongst themselves, because that meant that they wouldn’t notice she was gone. She was fine being rude to people—in fact, it was way too easy for her to be rude to people—but actual, real conversation, about hobbies and what type of music she liked, made her want to throw up her stomach from nervousness. She liked being with Sasha and Connie, because it was easy and they knew she didn’t mean her insults. It was also pretty easy to be with Christa, because Christa was shy and small and Ymir was always flirting with her, and Ymir was good at flirting.

 

Really, it was strange that she even cared about talking to these people, since she was dead. But she still did. N’t. Did-n’t want to talk to them.

 

She floated aimlessly in the corner between a wall and the ceiling for a good ten minutes before the elevator doors open and Christa stepped out, along with Hange and Levi and another man, who was tall, sturdy, and beautiful. Like, male model beautiful. Captain America beautiful. Like, Ymir was gay and she thought he was hot.

 

Ymir floated over to Mark for the sole purpose of asking him who Miss America over there was. “That’s Commander Erwin Smith,” he replied in a low voice, glancing around so no one would see him gossiping. “He’s one of the way higher ups. He and Captain Levi were together for a while, and then something must’ve happened because they’re not anymore.”

 

“But why does he look like Captain America?”

 

Mark shrugged. “I’m not sure, but he definitely doesn’t act like Captain America. I’ve heard that when Captain Levi or Squad Leader Hange get into trouble for being, well… weird, he blackmails people into leaving them alone or something.”

 

“Whoa. So he’s not actually Captain America, he just looks like him. Okay. Got it.”

 

“Sometimes he acts like him though, I guess. Sort of charming and old-fashioned. And then you hear about how he like killed three monsters and you just get really scared.”

 

“Monster?” Ymir asked. “You mean like politicians? You guys are political assassins?”

 

“Not quite,” said a deep, friendly voice that definitely didn’t belong to Mark. Ymir looked up to see Erwin Smith staring down at her. She floated up a bit, so she wouldn’t seem so much shorter than him.

 

“Then what are you?” she asked, not disguising the distrust in her voice. “No one in this damn place has given me a straight answer and I don’t see why I should even stay around here if you’re not gonna fuckin’ talk.”

 

“Ymir!” Christa scolds, stepping forward. “Don’t talk to Commander Smith like that!”

 

Ymir makes a face and is about to say something else when Erwin interjects.

 

“No, Christa, it’s only natural that she be angry. All ghosts are, in the beginning. Angry, and scared.”

 

He makes eye contact with Ymir and her breath catches in her throat. His eyes are a steely blue gray, and hard. Cold. Like metal. Suddenly Ymir is scared, but not for herself. She’s already dead, but Christa… small little Christa, standing there next to him, is alive.

 

Ymir floats in an unsubtle way closer to Christa, crossing her arms over her chest. “Tell me what’s going on then. Please.”

 

Erwin opens his mouth to speak, but before he can an alarm rings out through the building. Instantly the entire company is on high alert, all of them facing toward Erwin. He nods at them, looking at Christa.

 

“Go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was so late. I said I'd update every Friday and then I was like "nah" and here we are haha.
> 
> Also, I'll probably explain this at some point in the story, more thoroughly or whatever, but Christa has been like seeing what Ymir's doing in her dreams since she was really little. So like, whenever Christa went to sleep, she would see what Ymir was doing, or thinking of. So she knows like everything about her.\
> 
> Oh and I plan on making like some sort of story about how Marco became Jean's ghost because my friend really ships it and I'm evil??? So yeah this will now be like a series I guess.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They kill a monster. Ymir learns some things about the shit that they do, but not others. Christa still isn't nice to Ymir, but she has her reasons.

The alarm rings out through the giant building, and instantly Christa is ready, one arm behind her back, one hand to her chest, both in a fist. It’s the salute, and also a sort of ready position, or like a focus position. This is the first thing that they’re taught when they enter the academy: Stand like this when you see a superior, when you receive orders, during weekly updates about your work. They had practiced it all day, and she hadn’t done it well enough apparently, because she had had to stay behind and practice it over and over and over until she thought she might pass out. Saluting shouldn’t have been that hard.

 

Now that she was stronger, and made of sterner stuff than she had been, this position was natural. In fact, sometimes when she was waiting on subway or in line to get coffee, she would find herself falling into it unthinkingly, only realizing how weird it was when she noticed the people staring at her.

 

Erwin looked at the group of them, his eyes settling solely on her. She knew that this was because of Ymir. Ymir was the screw thrown into the gears of a well-oiled, well-working machine. She didn’t know what she was doing, and no one else knew either. She was a danger to all of them, really, but Erwin gave her a slight nod and she knew what he was saying. Bring her.

 

Though she had a lot of apprehensions about Ymir joining them on this mission, she didn’t speak them. She just nodded, then fell out of her salute as Erwin spoke.

 

“Go.”

 

Instantly they all left, hurrying off in different directions to grab their gear. Ymir followed after Christa, asking her what was going on. Christa didn’t answer. She didn’t feel like talking to Ymir right now, or ever, actually. Every time she even _looked_ at the other woman a pang went through her body like a spear and she felt sick, like she might actually throw up. Ymir had been safe before Christa had run into her, and now she was dead, and the guilt felt like it was actually eating her from inside.

 

Christa went to the gear room and opened up her weapons locker, which was bigger than most since she had a lot of weapons. She worked best with a sword—a long thin one, like a rapier, or a katana—and a bow and arrow. Today she picked up a huge executioner’s ax she had acquired a while ago, something that made most of the company insanely jealous because it was so awesome. Judging from the sound of today’s alarm, they were fighting a long, snake-like monster that fed on children. Just children. Those ones were the scariest for her, the ones that ate children. When she was a child, there had been something hiding in her closet, and no one believed her about it until it set her room on fire, with her still in it. She knew a child’s fear of monsters very, very well.

 

Her executioner’s ax would work best against this thing. One, because chopping and hacking at snake-type monsters was just about the best way to handle them, and two, because it was sealed with an anti-child eater polish that made it shine a weird green color in certain lights.

 

She hefted the huge ax over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing, hearing a squeak coming from behind her at the action. She turned her head to see Ymir staring at her with a mix of fear and something she desperately hoped was not arousal, because if Ymir got her hots from seeing Christa carry around weapons bigger than she was, well, neither of them would be able to do their job correctly.

 

She turned and stepped past the scared and possibly horny Ymir, making her way to the armory. She strapped a black leather plate over her torso and some guards on her shoulders and forearms, checking herself in the mirror to make sure she had everything. Yep. All check.

 

She turned around, stopping suddenly when she heard Ymir speak.

 

“What the _fuck_ is your job.”

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


Ymir stewed the entire drive, even as everyone else talked amongst each other. Earlier she had tried to join in until she heard them tossing around words like _fear-eater_ and _feeding habits_ and _effective techniques to kill_. It was around then that she tuned out, because not only were the group of them sounding a lot like a group of serial murderers, but Christa was absolutely ignoring her. She had even chosen to sit up toward the front, squishing herself in next to John and Mark, in a place where Ymir was unable to reach her.

 

So Ymir sat next to Annie, stewing. Well, moping. Yeah, just moping. She was angry and confused and wanted a hug, but she was quickly realizing that no one could hug her because she was dead.

 

“Where are we going?” she asked Annie, finally sick of all this damn silence.

 

“We got a call of a monster in the area,” said Annie, staring blankly at the far wall of the van. “We’re driving over to kill it before it can eat.”

 

“What’s it gonna eat?” Ymir continued to question, pleased at finding someone who would actually answer her questions.

 

“Well, this type of monster feeds off human flesh. Specifically the flesh of children.”

 

Ymir felt her gut clench. “What do you mean.”

 

Annie stared flatly at her, eyes cold and hard and almost… bored? “It means that if we don’t get there in time, it’ll eat children. Multiple children, probably. Younger ones. Their flesh is softer.”

 

Ymir felt like she might be sick. “So… you guys deal with this often?” She stared at Christa, who was chatting amiably to Mark and John. She didn’t look like someone who dealt with child-eating monsters regularly, if not daily. She looked a bit serious, Ymir supposed, but still… happy. Ish.

 

Ymir rested her head in her hands with a soft moan. She had no idea what the hell was going on with her life anymore. All she knew is that she was dead, she was somehow irreversibly attached to some little blonde chick who apparently couldn’t stand her for some reason, and all she wanted to do was get back into her body and back into her normal, mediocre life. After all, she clearly wasn’t needed here. The only people who had talked to her without having some ulterior motive had been some freckled dead guy who seemed too nice for his own good and some chick who actually looked like she was already dead.

 

“I wish my name was Dorothy,” she muttered to herself, causing Annie to glance over at her.

 

_Because I want to tap my feet together and go back home._

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


The monster was hiding in the closet of a daycare center, which took a lot of explaining to get into. In the end, Levi had to not only flash his government ID card, identifying himself as a part of the monster hunting division, but he also had to have everyone else in the group flash theirs. Ymir, Mark, and the other ghosts got a free pass because normal people couldn’t see them.

 

Once inside, Christa stepped closer to Ymir again, partly because Ymir was her ghost partner, but mostly because she was looking really lost. Even though Christa didn’t like looking at her because it made her feel like shit, she also couldn’t stand it when she was anything but grinning flirtatiously at just about everyone in sight.

 

“Do you know what’s going on?” Christa asked, doing her best to sound like she didn’t care much whether Ymir did or didn’t. Ymir didn’t answer, just glared at her. Christa felt her heart wilt. Even though it was her idea to push Ymir away by acting like an asshole (and when had that idea ever even surfaced in the first place?), she still felt like shit when Ymir was mad at her.

 

“We’re here to kill monsters,” Christa explained, sounding a bit friendlier despite her best efforts to the contrary. “You’re my guardian ghost, sort of. Your job is basically to help me out, protect me, that sort of thing.”

 

“How can I protect you?” Ymir asked dully. “I just go through things. I can’t touch anyon—anything.”

 

Christa ignored the slip, even though it made her want to die, just a little. “You have to practice. You’ll learn; Marco will teach you. For now, we just want to show you a bit of what you’ll be doing here.”

 

“Marco? Is that that kid’s name? The dead one?”

 

Christa shot her a confused look. “Yeah… I told you that earlier, didn’t it?”

 

Ymir shrugged. “I forgot. I thought it was Mark. Mark and John.”

 

“ _Jean_.”

 

“What the fuck. Does he speak like. Fucking _fancy_ or something what does that even mean.”

 

“It’s French for John, so I guess you were close.”

 

Ymir frowned. “Then does that mean I got everyone else’s names wrong?”

 

Christa pointed out the group to Ymir, enunciating clearly as she spoke their names. It turned out instead of Rhino, Bert, Aaron, Mi Casa, and Ar Min, it was Reiner, Bertolt, Eren-with-an-E, Mikasa (all one word), and Armin (also all one word). Ymir shrugged with each name, muttering that she hadn’t gotten them too wrong, but Christa felt relieved that she had an excuse to talk to her without sounding too much as if she hated her guts.

 

Once she was done with Ymir, Christa stood quietly next to her, leaning against the wall. Everyone else was setting up everything; the cameras, protective and offensive rituals, moving furniture out of the way. The monster would need to be lured out of hiding before they killed it, so they had time to get ready.

 

“Why aren’t you helping them?” Ymir asked, not bothering with pretending to be polite. “I mean, you can lift that huge ax. You should be able to help them with shit.”

 

Christa shrugged. “They don’t need any help,” she lied. Well, half-lied.

 

Ymir stared at her, unimpressed. “Why not? Too _good_ to help them?” She sneered a bit, and Christa realized that Ymir expected that kind of behavior from her, because that’s how she was acting to her. Only to her.

 

“Yes,” Christa answered, swallowing the lump in her throat saying so caused. “I’m too good to help them.”

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


The monster…

 

Ymir looked away, something caught in her throat. She would think it was breath if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t breathe anymore.

 

The monster…

 

Ymir looked at Christa; at the way she didn’t even flinch at the monster; at the ghost of a smile on her lips from something Reiner said; at how small she seems, and how dwarfed she is by the gigantic form in front of them.

 

The monster was terrifying.

 

It was huge, at least the width of a car, and a big one at that. It was a snakelike creature, like the basilisk from Harry Potter, but blacker, larger, and with the head of… of some sort of…

 

Ymir shuddered and looked away, edging closer to Christa even though a) Christa couldn’t protect her, and b) it couldn’t hurt Ymir anyway.

 

“You guys… are gonna kill that?” She didn’t really aim the question at anyone, but it was Christa who answered. Apparently she finally felt like giving Ymir the time of day, or at least answering some of her questions.

 

“Yes. We’re going to kill it, hopefully before it can kill anyone or cause any property damage.”

 

“You’re worried about property damage?” Ymir asked, watching as the giant snake thing slowly moved from the close it had been hiding in. The doorway was bending slightly as the snake went through, because it was so big it didn’t fit. “How about keeping your fucking sanity! How do you sleep at night knowing shit like that exists?”

 

Christa smiled grimly, then took a step forward to meet the monster. “I don’t.”

 

Ymir watched, heart in her throat, as Christa walked forward alone. Her ax was propped over her shoulder, not even in any sort of ready stance, and she walked slowly and awkwardly, shrinking in on herself to seem smaller. Ymir suddenly realized that she was pretending to be a child. 

 

The snake fixed glittering white eyes on her, a strangely human tongue flicking from its mouth to taste the air. Its mouth formed some sort of horrific grin, showing rows and rows and _rows_ of sharp teeth as big as plates, and then it lunged forward. Ymir screamed with surprise, flying backward when she had only meant to take a couple of steps back.

 

As Ymir went backward, everyone else went forward, and through the amount of bodies moving Ymir couldn't see Christa anymore, and her heart was way farther than her throat now, but somewhere more like the back of her teeth, and she might spit it out any moment now because if Christa died right here, if Christa died… Ymir didn’t know why it would affect her at all if she died, but it would, somehow, and… and she didn't want that.

 

The monster let out a horrible, eardrum-shattering scream that had Ymir clutching at her head, even though it couldn't actually hurt her any. There was a large thud that Ymir thought had probably shaken the ground (she couldn’t tell for sure), and dust rose into the air, blocking Christa from sight again. Ymir edged forward, but stop as some of the dust went through her body. It felt disgusting, and awful, and if she had had an actual body she would have thrown up, but as it was all she did was back up and feel… thinner, somehow. She was less real when she touched something solid.

 

When the dust finally cleared, she edged forward to find Christa perfectly fine, not a scratch on her, or even just a drop of the thick green blood that seemed to cover everything anywhere nearby the snake. Her ax blade was covered in blood, but not a hair on her head was even out of place. She had no change in expression; no triumphant smile, or sickened look from the smell of the corpse. She looked… the same.

 

Suddenly Ymir was scared again, but this time it wasn’t from the monster, but from its killer. Christa didn’t even care that she had killed a snake bigger than Ymir’s whole apartment complex. Christa… was she even a real human being?! Maybe all the monsters she’d killed had affected her somehow, and now she was a little bit what they were.

 

Christa nodded at Ymir when she saw her, then swung her ax up and around, clearing the blood from the blade, then set it on her shoulder and left the building.

  
Ymir didn’t follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay!!! So updates are gonna be irregular haha isn't that fun. I like to get 'em out as soon as they're done, so but I'll try to make it a weekly thing on Fridays at some point, when I've gotten more into the groove of writing again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> For the switch in viewpoint when Ymir is hit, for one thing, and for another, the part where Ymir is hit in general.
> 
> More notes, if you're interested and not terribly mad: This started out as a oneshot and then I remembered I had this plotline I hadn't used yet where someone is a ghost and someone else isn't, and then I was like "Well I might as well use this for the YumiKuri I want to write," and that's why you have such a sad story in front of you rn. Sorry again. Kinda.
> 
> You can come complain to my Tumblr if you want, which is http://kissmyassbuttbitch.tumblr.com/  
> You can also complain in the comments, and tell me what a bitch I am (not that I don't already know), and whatever else you feel you need to do.
> 
> I'll try to update as frequently as I can, so let's try for weekly on Friday. We shall see. We shall see. (Today is Friday right? Summer fucks me up.)


End file.
